


Heavenly Blessings (Accidental and Otherwise)

by EmeraldAshes



Series: Ineffable Husbands Oneshots [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Sleeping, Background: Gabriel Being a Dick (i.e. Himself), But It's Really Petty, Cute, Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sick Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sick Character, The Angels Get Revenge, Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-27 04:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldAshes/pseuds/EmeraldAshes
Summary: “They’ve got you under some kind of interrogation spell?”The angel shook his head, chuckling lightly. “No, no, it’s really quite nice. It’s all about opening up and being your true self and sharing secrets with the ones you love, even if you would never usually say a...Actually, now that I hear it out loud, yes. It’s an interrogation spell.”In which the angels couldn't burn Aziraphale, so they do the next best thing.





	Heavenly Blessings (Accidental and Otherwise)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【授权翻译】天堂祝福（意外的和其它的）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27822232) by [lynnlovego](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnlovego/pseuds/lynnlovego)

Crowley hadn’t intended to sit so closely to Aziraphale. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had intended it, but he was trying to be obnoxious to prove a point.1 He had fully expected Aziraphale to move to another chair or even give him a shove, not roll his eyes and then _settle in against the demon’s side and keep reading._

Moving away from Aziraphale would mean admitting defeat. It would also mean moving away from Aziraphale. You can understand the issue here.

Crowley had sat quietly, certain that if he opened his mouth, he would say something stupid, and Aziraphale would finally figure the whole thing out. It was a bloody miracle he hadn’t already, and Crowley couldn’t exactly pray for another miracle if this one went belly up.

Dear _Someone_, but the angel was warm. Crowley might not be cold-blooded, but he still felt that intrinsic need to find someplace sunny and curl up there. Aziraphale, the celestial bastard, practically _was_ sunshine when he was in a good mood.

Crowley was staring intently at the bookcase in front of him, putting great effort into not saying anything stupid, when he felt a gentle weight against his shoulder.

Aziraphale had fallen asleep on top of him, blond hair tickling the demon’s collarbone. The sight was heartwarming -- and also quite unusual. The angel never slept.

* * *

“I just keep falling asleep all over the place. It’s getting embarrassing, frankly,” Aziraphale told him when they met for lunch a few days later. The angel’s nose was bright red, even more than the warm flush that usually stole across his pale face on winter days, and he kept sniffling.

Crowley sipped on his wine. “Have you tried a bed?”

“I don’t even own a bed.”

“You can always sleep in my bed.” Crowley paused, realized that he had just said exactly the kind of stupid thing he’d been guarding against lately, and hurriedly added, “When I’m. Not using it. I mean.”

Aziraphale sneezed violently. “Ugh, and now _this._ I can’t imagine what’s wrong with me.”

“Sounds like you’re sick.”

“I am _not._ I’ve never been sick. Have you ever been sick?”

“Nope, but I’ve never looked as sorry as you do right now, either.” The wine bottle obligingly refilled itself as Crowley went to pour them each another glass.

Aziraphale sniffed, then sniffed again when that didn’t quite do the job. “Our kind can’t even get sick. Unless God’s gone and sent a plague down. You, err, don’t think…?”

“You haven’t been smited, angel.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Right, well, I imagine a Biblical plague would be a bit more dramatic anyway. You remember Egypt.”

* * *

“Where the hell are your clothes?”

“I will never understand how you became so prudish,” Aziraphale replied, sitting in the backroom of the bookshop in just his pants.

“Your clothesssss,” Crowley hissed2.

“No need to be snippy about it. I’m feeling rather hot, that’s all." Aziraphale sat primly as he worked to rebind an old book.

“I knew you were sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Aziraphale protested. “This isn’t a feverish heat. Just the regular kind.”

“It’s freezing in here,” Crowley said. He was still bundled up for the snowstorm outside, and he felt perfectly comfortable in the frigid bookshop.

Aziraphale sighed, standing in a way that made his near-nakedness much more apparent. Then he walked up to Crowley and grabbed the demon’s hand, placing it against his forehead. “Do I feel feverish to you?”

“Hngh,” Crowley whined.

Aziraphale nodded in satisfaction. “I thought not.”

* * *

The next time Crowley stopped by3, the bookshop was dark. The doors had been locked, deadbolted, and barred. The demon expected to find Aziraphale preparing for war. Or lounging about stark naked. Depended on his luck, really.

“Angel,” Crowley called out. “Are you decent?”

Aziraphale poked his head out of the back room, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. “You didn’t let any of them in, did you?”

“Let who in?”

“The customers! Oh, they’re rabid today. Absolutely won’t take no for an answer.”

Crowley chuckled. “You’ve got to be the only shop owner in London who would complain about customers daring to buy things.”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes widened. “Oh. You might have a point.”

“You’re actually going to sell something?”

Aziraphale stared at him in absolute horror. “What? Dear lord no. Absolutely not. But I think I’ve put it together. This is a good thing. They’re all good things, just twisted up the wrong way.”

“I’m not following, angel.”

“They’re blessings, Crowley. Overpowered ones, yes, but quite traditional other than that. Restful sleep, a strong immune system, warmth in the cold, a prosperous business...This is Gabriel’s doing, I’m sure of it. He’s the only one who would think to take a gift and weaponize it.”

“They couldn’t burn you, so they’ve decided to annoy you to death, instead,” Crowley said.

“They’re being petty.” Aziraphale sighed. “Very petty.”

Crowley grinned. “Kind of inspiring, really.”

* * *

Aziraphale wanted to tell him. That wasn’t anything new of course. He’d given up on denial back in the eighteenth century and moving on to a highly embarrassing level of mooning. It was the strength of the want that surprised him.

God, but he was beautiful. Crowley’s gorgeous serpentine eyes met his, his lips shaped words that Aziraphale could not take in, his long fingers swept in front of the blond’s face. “Earth to angel?”

Aziraphale said, “I think they’ve gone and blessed me again.”

“What’d they do this time?”

“I’m going to try to lie to you,” he continued. “The sky is red.”

“...Right.”

The words exploded out of him. “It’s actually blue; it’s blue. Oh darn it!”

“They’ve got you under some kind of interrogation spell?”

The angel shook his head, chuckling lightly. “No, no, it’s really quite nice. It’s all about opening up and being your true self and sharing secrets with the ones you love, even if you would never usually say a...Actually, now that I hear it out loud, yes. It’s an interrogation spell.”

Aziraphale made a concerted effort not to panic and then, having immediately failed, decided to give up and panic wildly. He blurted out, “I lie a lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“A _lot._”4

“I know,” Crowley repeated. “You’re really bad at it.”

“I am n...I am, yes. But that’s no cause for saying so.” Aziraphale stalked around the room, nudging books more evenly on their shelves, brushing off nonexistent specks of dust, and failing quite spectacularly to keep his mind clear. Perhaps he should think about something innocuous like sushi or that delightful souffle he’d tried recently or the Archangel Gabriel, who was almost certainly to blame for this, or…

It was no good. His thoughts kept returning to Crowley, his friend. Crowley, who had stood with him as the world nearly came to an end. Crowley, who had served as a willing pillow when he’d gone and fallen asleep on top of him. Crowley, who had offered to share a bed with him, but not like that, of course. Of course not.

And he wanted. God, but he wanted. He was dizzy with it.

“This is absolutely dreadful!”

Crowley smirked. “Want me to gag you?”

“That does sound intriguing,” Aziraphale’s mouth said without his permission. A blush warmed his face. He was trying to fight the urge to be honest, but that just seemed to strengthen the compulsion. “Any time you like, really.”

Crowley stared at him, very still. Less like a snake about to bolt forward and bite, and more like a snake who had experienced a great shock. Which, to be fair, is precisely what he was.

Aziraphale continued. “That was exactly what it sounded like.”

Crowley took a step forward. Then another. Until he was close to Aziraphale. Close enough to touch. The demon’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and the angel would have happily leaned forward to take a bite.

“You have a lovely throat,” Aziraphale said softly.

“I love you,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale took a shaky breath. “Do you mean that? It’s not that I’m doubting you, but also, I suppose I am. A little. Could you say it again?”

“I’ve never lied to you, angel. Left things out, maybe. But never lied.” Crowley grabbed his angel’s hands. “Because I love you.”

Aziraphale launched himself forward, kissing the demon with millennia of pent-up longing. The demon responded in kind. Long arms wrapped around a soft waist, pulling closer. Scrabbling fingers buried themselves in red hair. They had been hungry for this for so long that they could not stop to savor this moment. They simply leaned forward and devoured each other.

This was, the angel thought when he woke in Crowley’s bed several hours later, perhaps the nicest blessing anyone could have given him.

* * *

1 Said point was: “Stop ignoring me and put down the book. I’m here now. Pay attention to me.”

2 He could feel his tongue forking with the stress of it all.

3 Three days and a dozen wanks later.

4 Aziraphale could count no fewer than fourteen lies in the past day alone. Most notably, he had told Crowley that he was feeling much better, told a customer that a certain First Edition copy of “Ulysses” was on reserve, and told his neighbor Mrs. Armstrong that it was lovely to see her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who gave me tips on footnotes!


End file.
